PART 2
The next day, I opened an old notebook where I kept contacts from the hospital—lawyers, social workers, retired police officers, and families who once told me, “Mercedes, one day I’ll repay the favor.”
That day had come.
First, I called Don Julián, a retired social worker. I had cared for his son when he nearly died of pneumonia.
—Mercedes, if you’re calling me this early, it means something serious has happened.
I told him everything. Adrián, Beatriz, the false order, the custody issue, the apartment.
“I know Beatriz Robles,” he said. “She wins too easily. Let me make a few calls.”
Then I called Tomás, a retired private investigator. His wife had died in the hospital where I worked, and for weeks I had brought him coffee early in the mornings.
“Give me the names,” he said.
I gave them all: Adrián Robles, Beatriz Robles, Ernesto Robles, Diego Robles, and Camila.
—A wealthy family that believes it’s untouchable—Tomás said.—They’re always hiding something.
Cracks began to show within three days.
Don Julián discovered that the supposed witnesses to the apartment transfer were employees from Beatriz’s office. Tomás uncovered that Ernesto, Lucía’s father-in-law, owned an import business with questionable accounts, inflated invoices, and money routed through third parties. Diego, Adrián’s brother and accountant, was the one signing everything.
But what truly chilled us was something else.
Tomás obtained a copy of the apartment documents. Lucía’s signature appeared on an impossible date: March 12th, at eleven in the morning.
That day, Lucía had been in the emergency room with Sofía due to a severe throat infection. She had receipts, test results, a hospital bracelet, and even a message from the teacher asking why the girl had missed school.
“They forged your signature,” Tomás said, laying the papers on the table. “This wasn’t a mistake. It was fraud.”
Lucía covered her mouth with both hands.
For the first time in days, I saw anger in her eyes.
—They took my home while I was taking care of my sick daughter.
With that evidence, we went to a young lawyer, Renata Martínez, the daughter of a doctor I had once worked with. Renata listened carefully, then closed the folder.
—Beatriz is dangerous, but she got overconfident. If we prove falsification and procedural abuse, everything changes.
Less than a week later, Adrián showed up outside my house.
He arrived in Lucía’s car, dressed like a man of importance, wearing dark glasses and a smile that made you want to wipe it off his face.
“I’ve come for a signature,” he said, handing Lucía an envelope. “If you agree to give me custody of Sofía, I’ll give you fifty thousand pesos and this will all be over.”
Lucía opened the document. Her face went pale.
—It says here that I give up my rights as a mother.
“It’s the best solution for everyone,” Adrián replied. “Sofía needs stability, not to be hiding in an old woman’s house.”
A fire burned inside my chest.
—Show some respect.
He laughed.
“You don’t understand, Mrs. Mercedes. My mother knows judges. My father knows businessmen. My brother handles accounts for important people. You have no case.”
Lucía tore the papers apart right in front of him.
—I will never give up my daughter.
Adrián’s smile vanished.
—Then I’ll see you at the hearing. And when my mother is done with you, Sofía won’t even want to call you Mom.
Before he left, Sofía stepped out into the yard. When she saw him, she didn’t run to hug him. She hid behind Lucía.
Adrián forced a smile.
—Hello, princess.
Sofía whispered:
—Why did you kick us out of the house, Dad?
He glanced toward the street, uneasy because the neighbors were listening.
—Your mom is confusing you.
“No,” the girl said. “I saw when you changed the lock.”
Adrián clenched his jaw, got into the car, and drove away.
That night, we received another call. It was Patricia, Beatriz’s former secretary. She wanted to meet in person.
We arranged to meet at a café. She arrived trembling, clutching a folder tightly to her chest.
“Beatriz forced me to alter documents,” she confessed. “We scanned Lucía’s signatures and placed them on new contracts. I have emails. I have original copies. I have everything.”
Lucía broke down in tears.
—Why did she do it?
Patricia lowered her eyes.
—Because Beatriz wanted Adrián to start a new life without paying anything. She said her son deserved a woman “of his caliber.”
But before we could use that evidence, Beatriz made her dirtiest move.
One night, two patrol cars pulled up in front of my house.
—Lucía Rojas is being detained for violating a restraining order.
“That’s a lie!” I shouted. “She’s been here all day.”
The officer showed a document signed by a supposed neighbor claiming they had seen her near the apartment.
Sofía watched as they took her mother away in handcuffs.
And when the little girl cried “Mommy!”, I understood that Beatriz didn’t just want to win a case.
She wanted to destroy them.
